The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1)

by Clarissa Draper

  Fetching the milk from the fridge, she saw a huge cantaloupe at the back that she had forgotten about. Placing it on the counter, she took a large knife from a drawer and sliced the melon in half. She looked at the large knife, similar to the one that Helena held in her hand.

  Turning the knife in her hand, she said, “What does a knife represent? To cut, for food, or to hurt and murder.” She continued her massacre of the melon. Theo didn’t reply. She looked round and saw him scooping coffee grounds into the filter. Taking a piece of melon, she threw it in her mouth. “Do you think the killer is after me?”

  “No, I don’t think he’s after you. I don’t think you’re the type he’s killing; I think you’re the one who he’s trying to talk to, explain his actions to. I just worry that if you don’t reply soon enough…”

  She turned away from him.

  “Can I use your toilet?” Theo asked.

  She nodded and pointed down the hall. As she cut a sliver off another piece of melon, a thought came to her. She had to test it out. She went to her front door and opened it a crack, retrieved something from the hall closet, and returned to the kitchen. She quietly lay down on the floor and positioned herself.

  The toilet flushed and she heard Theo come out. She could hear him approach the front door, open it wider and look out. Then she heard him shut it. He walked toward the kitchen and stopped. What did he think? She was about to rise when she heard him go toward the bedroom. What was he doing? Didn’t he see her? He went toward the office next and promptly retreated. His footsteps approached again. She stopped breathing. It had to appear as if she was dead.

  He stopped. “What the hell?” He knelt beside her. There was a bright orange flowery scarf around her neck. She was not looking at him; her face was turned the other way. The kitchen knife clenched in her hand tightly.

  “Sophia, oh God, Sophia.” His fingers touched her neck. Yes, she still had a pulse. Turning over, she faced him. In shock, he fell back and banged his head on the refrigerator door.

  “Theo,” she said, letting go of the knife and slowly lifting off the floor. “What was your first impression when you came into the room? About the knife I mean, what was your first impression?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes bulged out at her, bloodshot and red. “What the hell? This was staged, you were staging this?” He grabbed the orange scarf around her neck, pulled it away and threw it on the floor.

  “What? I was doing an experiment.”

  He walked into the living area. “I’m letting you off this time because of the day you had, but don’t pull that stunt again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He relaxed his shoulders and replied, “You wanted me to think you were Helena, is that it?”

  “I guess. No actually, I wanted your opinion on what the knife meant to you.”

  “I thought you tried to protect yourself with it, but it was a surprise attack.”

  “How would I protect myself if I were surprised?”

  “I don’t know.” Theo’s mobile rang. “This is news. We’ve got a warrant to search the Richards’ house. Apparently the son was caught on tape at one of Helena Smithwick’s book signings a week or so ago—they spoke for ten minutes. When Dorland and I asked him if he had met her, he said no. That was a lie. That and his history is enough for a search warrant.”

  Sophia stood back from her pie. “Oh, my God. He’s just a boy. I can’t see him being the killer. I can’t see him being the one who walked into my building and put a picture of a dead girl in my letter box.”

  “The video was bad quality. We can’t be sure it wasn’t him.”

  “But I can’t remember seeing him anywhere.”

  “Maybe at that Tesco’s?”

  “Which one?”

  “The one off Fulham.”

  Sophia put down her fork. “Oh my word. I have shopped there. I don’t understand it. It doesn’t make any sense. Why? Why is he doing this?”

  Theo came over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes things just don’t make any sense.”

  She sighed. “Well, if it is him, at least it’s over. Thanks, Theo. Oh, and by the way, when you search the Richards’s house, I would like to be there… if I can.”

  He nodded. She flipped through the list of suspects Theo visited earlier and photographed the Richards’ address with her mobile phone. She knew it was late and that he should go home, go home to his wife. She knew she was being selfish, but she asked anyway. “Will you stay?”

  “At the other flat?”

  “No, here. I think once you leave and I actually allow myself to think, I’m going to… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  He stayed.

  The next morning, Sophia woke at four. She fought the urge to stay in bed and rock in the fetal position. Not tired but incredibly depressed, she needed a drive. All she could picture was Marc’s face. His eyes. The shock.

  “Sophie,” he had said when he turned around. That was it. Her name. Then he fell to the floor. So fast. How could life be over just like that? How could she not be dreaming?

  She walked into the living room and looked down at Theo sleeping soundly on her sofa. She left the note on the table by his head, telling him she’d meet him at the Richards’s house, and drove her Merc out of the car park. The urges to run far, far away to where no one could find her were increasing exponentially; but for some reason, she didn’t know where to go. Instead, she programmed the Richards’ address into her GPS and drove there.

  At only a quarter past five, no one was about yet. Who would be? Finding a place down the street, she parked and laid her head on her hands. There was no movement, not in the house, not in any houses, not on the street. Shutting off the engine, she opened the window a sliver, reclined her seat and was about to relax her eyes when she heard a noise outside. A quiet but steady scraping sound. She sat up and locked her doors. A movement out of the corner of her eye, directed her to the Richards’ house. Someone stood on the roof.

  Wearing a hooded jacket and sweats, the person slid down the roof of his house. He carried a bag to the edge of the roof and threw it onto the grass with a clatter. Looking around toward a window on his right, he stood motionless. After awhile, he dropped down onto the shed roof and onto the grass.

  Sophia slunk down in her seat to avoid being seen as the man walked past her car. He climbed into an unlocked vehicle and started it. Speeding past, he went straight down two streets and took a right. She waited until he was a street up before starting her vehicle and quickly following. Turning the corner, she nearly missed him turning left three streets down. Stepping on the accelerator, she watched him speed on ahead of her. Where was he going? Should she ring Theo?

  She was about to dial when she saw him pull into the Tesco’s car park up ahead. Was he going to work this early? There were cars in the parking lot and the lights were on inside, but if he were going to work, why would he sneak out of the house? He drove his vehicle around the back of the store out of sight and when Sophia finally caught up, he was just getting back into his car and shutting the door.

  As he drove on, she slowly followed him, past large dustbins and empty metal shelving near the back entrance to the store. Turning past the building, she could not see his car anymore. Damn.

  She returned to the Richards’ house only to see his car there, sitting exactly in the spot he took it from. The man was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 29

  Seven-thirty on the dot, Theo and the teams arrived with the warrant. Theo looked around for Sophia. She had said in her note that she’d meet him there. When he found her car, with her sleeping inside, he softly tapped on the window. She sat up with a start and opened her door.

  “Already?” she asked.

  He nodded and motioned to the officers milling about the house. A great deal of commotion met the knock on the Richard family’s door. The dog barked, scraping his nails on the new silver doorframe with a grating screech. They heard muffled yellin
g from upstairs. Someone came down the stairs, grabbed the dog by the collar, and dragged him toward the back of the house.

  Finally, the door opened. Mr. Richards stood there stunned. Had he realized almost fifteen officers stood at his doorstep ready to storm his house, he might have prepared his attire to something more than plaid boxers. Mouth opened, he did not reply as DI Hardcastle explained the warrant procedure to him. No chance for him to step aside, as officers swarmed into his house and spread out.

  Theo took Sophia’s hand and entered. He heard Hardcastle instruct Mr. Richards to tie up his dog outside. Theo stepped into the drawing room first, looking for anything that could tie this family to the murders. He studied a family portrait that hung above the mantel until Mr. Richards appeared in front of him.

  “What is this all about?” Mr. Richards asked. “Why are you searching my house? Should I be calling my solicitor?”

  “You do what you must,” Theo said and bounded across the dining room to catch a china plate falling over in a cabinet the officers were ransacking.

  The commotion woke the others in the household. The wife stood in the living room doorway, hands on her hips, staring down her husband.

  Sophia knelt beside Theo as he looked through the family’s books.

  “Somehow, this feels wrong,” she said. “I shouldn’t have come. I feel so awkward here. They seem like such an ordinary family. Look, they like model trains.” She pointed to the books with HO scale train layout plans. “I noticed pictures of family vacations to Paris and Rome framed all over the room. Nothing seems to belong to a sadistic serial killer.”

  Theo said, “Just what were you expecting? Satanic pictures and drawings all over the walls? A dead goat in the kitchen?”

  “Something more than this.” She pointed at Mrs. Richards, who went round after the officers, replacing various items back into their exact original positions.

  Heading upstairs with Sophia close behind, Theo entered the main bedroom. It was in disarray. Drawers lay open, clothes rifled though, and the bed sheets in shambles. A large television sat above a dresser, and upon the shelves was a neatly organized DVD collection. He went over and examined them, finding it to be the average comedy movie variety. Some BBC collections and a few Disney. Nothing outrageous, nothing suggestive. Opening a few of the covers, he was not surprised to see that the movies inside matched their covers.

  In the woman’s wardrobe, he found a few silk scarves and asked an officer to bag them. They did not look the same as what the killer used on his victims, but women often owned a variety of scarves. Nothing was high in the closets except boxes of old receipts and a few old pairs of shoes; no substantial evidence.

  The son’s room proved to be more interesting. Ivan stood there quietly as the officers searched through his room. He was incredibly neat. What the rampaging officers did not touch lay in precise order. Books were arranged in order by subject, then author. He had a collection of Archer Mayor lined up in a row. In his closet, every shirt hung neatly, trousers folded and hung by the crease. Socks were arranged by color in his drawers, and items on his spotless desk were labeled in clear plastic containers: pens, rulers, and the like. The military school uniform hanging in his closet cleared a few things up in Theo’s mind as to why the boy would be so neat.

  “Has your house been searched before?” Sophia asked Ivan.

  He looked straight ahead and answered, “No, ma’am.”

  One of the officers came forward from the closet, holding up with his gloved hand a slim lock-pick. The boy glanced at it quickly, his eye giving an almost imperceptible twitch. His face resumed position, and he continued to stare straight ahead.

  “This young man has a previous conviction for breaking and entering,” said DI Hardcastle, who entered the room. “Seems Ivan is still involved in that occupation. What do you have to say to that?” Hardcastle leaned towards the young man and waited for his reply.

  There was none.

  “Does this tool belong to you?” Hardcastle asked him.

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you deny being involved in illegal activities in your past that would involve such tools?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I ask you again. Does this tool belong to you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How do you explain how it got in your closet?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Ivan.” The boy’s father spoke now, as he had followed DI Hardcastle through the house. “Son, what is it doing in your closet?”

  Shifting on his feet, Ivan looked at his father and then quickly down toward the floor. The father waited for a response. “Son, you’re not involved in this sort of activity any longer, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  These few words seemed to satisfy his father.

  Sophia stepped back.

  “What?” Theo asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she replied.

  “I want to know, is it pertaining to this?”

  Sophia tilted her head.

  Theo grabbed her jacket and dragged her out of the room and into the privacy of the upstairs toilet. “What?”

  Sophia related to Theo the movements she had witnessed in the middle of the night. “I don’t know what sort of evidence he was getting rid of, but it might be important to your investigation. I doubt Ivan will prove to be our serial killer. He just doesn’t fit. He’s too young, and just because he’s interested in police books, doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  They rejoined the team back in the boy’s room just as Hardcastle asked the father, “Does your son have a computer?”

  “Used to, but we removed all of them from the house. It’s just better that way. He can use computers at school, and we can use the computers at work.” Hardcastle nodded and wrote something down in his notebook.

  An officer found a box in the boy’s closet that he passed down to Hardcastle. It contained a book —a book by Helena Smithwick. Inside the cover was written, I enjoyed our conversation, I hope your mother enjoys the book, Helena.

  “Ivan, when I asked you if you had met Helena Smithwick before, you were lying.” Theo said.

  No answer.

  “Well, perhaps you’ll be more willing to talk at the police station.”

  The boy still said nothing. The father raised his hand in protestation as Hardcastle placed handcuffs on the boy’s wrists.

  “I’m going to call our solicitor. This is a huge misunderstanding, and you’ll be sorry.” The father stormed out of the room. Theo could hear the mother asking questions as her husband bounded down the stairs, and the faint cry when he told her.

  Grabbing Sophia, Theo gave her two sets of instructions. Garbage picking and car searching, he called it.

  “This is premature speculation,” warned Sophia. “Ivan ignored me.”

  “Why is that important?” Hardcastle asked her.

  With a raise of the eyebrow, Sophia replied, “One would think the killer would pay more attention to me—especially if he walked into my building and dropped off codes for me.”

  DI Hardcastle only shrugged. “We questioned him. We know he was near the scene of the crime on the night of her murder. The car is nondescript, the boy has a record, and he has met one of the victims. What more do you want?”

  “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “What profile is that? The one you read in a book? The boy acts guilty, he most likely is.”

  Theo stepped in now. “He is most likely guilty of something. But multiple murders? He’s a petty thief, and he had sex with one of his classmates. What of it? You don’t progress from that to premeditated, multiple murders, not without good reason. Ivan is young. He’s not the mastermind behind all these elaborate codes.”

  “Theo,” DI Hardcastle said, “you’re just frustrated because our team is pulling him in.”

  “Are you bloody kidding me?” Theo replied. “You’re saying I’m upset because you caught the petty thief? No, I’m upse
t because you’re wasting precious time pursuing this child. While the kid stands there answering our questions in two word sentences, our real murderer could be out there stalking his next victim, ready to pounce, while we’re here sitting with our thumbs up our arses.”

  DI Hardcastle said, “If you don’t think he’s guilty, then let’s sit him down, question him and confirm it. I think he’s guilty of something, don’t you? Let’s go find out what that is, then we can get on with other lines of inquiries. What do you say?”

  Theo just shook his head.

  * * *

  A parade of officers lined the hall to the interview room, patting DI Hardcastle and Theo on the back as they passed.

  In the room, Ivan sat with his father. He still looked straight ahead, not making any sort of facial expressions. The father spoke, “What is my son being charged with?” Ivan’s eyes, which had remained stoic in the comfort of his own home, now became uneasy.

  “We have a picture of your car on tape, Mr. Richards, placed near the scene of a very bad crime, at the time in question. We’re hoping you’ll help us clear up—”

  The father interrupted. “There’s no way our car was found there.”

  There was a knock on the door. A solicitor entered and the room went silent.

  Theo’s mobile went off with a text message from Sophia. It contained two lines: Bins emptied early this morning as per schedule. Car belonged to a neighbor.

  “Ivan, I’m going to tell you a few things about life,” Theo said. “First of all, I’m not a big fan of military schools. Why? Because often well-meaning parents enroll their children hoping to change unruly behavior; however, in the end, they leave knowing more about the trade they were put there to correct. I believe that may be the case here.”

  Mr. Richards shook his head.

  Theo continued, “It’s apparent your father knows this to be true. Listen, you’re young, you have your whole life in front of you. I see one of two scenarios: you can either be suspected of committing an extremely brutal series of crimes or face up to what crimes you are guilty of.”

  “What the hell are you going on about?” the solicitor asked. “What is my client being accused of?”